


Kiss of Death

by glinda4thegood



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-09
Updated: 2011-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-16 19:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glinda4thegood/pseuds/glinda4thegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fishkeeping weredragon, Death, Giles, Anita Blake, try to stop a vampire orgy to bring back <i>She Who Must Be Worshipped</i> . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Crossover Anita Blake/Buffy universe.  
> Story was inspired by Tara Keezer's crossover fic. Originally archived on Shrift, I was part of the great hack.

  
I am first daughter of a first daughter, who was a first daughter herself, whose mother was a first daughter . . . Uncounted generations of first daughters who are given the name Es.

I am the first Es in modern recollection who has not conceived and given birth to an Es by her thirtieth birthday. This troubles my mother and grandmother, who call from their mountain retreat at least once a week and ask the question: “Have you found the man?”

I am now forty years old. My mother indicates the delay in her becoming a grandmother is, at the least, disturbing. At the worst, grandmother adds, it may be cataclysmic.

I am not prone to worry and fret over a possible lapse in tradition, nor do I fret over a lack of suitable male companionship. Grandmother says this is because Gaia’s birth-gift to me was the capacity to maintain a mindless, encompassing state of calm acceptance.

It wasn’t until I passed my teen years and became a young woman that either my grandmother or mother began to wonder if this birth-gift might be something for which they should reproach Gaia.

I suspect such reproaches have the same effect on Gaia that they have on me.

***

Shortly after noon on Wednesday, Death walked into my shop.

I was feeding bloodworms to a tank full of mixed corydoras who had spawned every morning for the last week or so. Happy, horny little beggars.

The soft tinkle of the bell above my door announced a customer. I dropped the last bit of fishy treat into the aquarium and turned, a _welcome_ smile ready on my lips.

“Hello. Please take your time looking around. When you need help, I’ll be here.”

He met my eyes. I felt the smile melt from my face. This was not a man who needed -- or wanted -- the companionship my creatures could offer.

There’s a sign behind the work counter that warns potential customers about house rules. _All sales subject to owner’s discretion._ I don’t know if my ability to read people is another of Gaia’s gifts, or if it’s the result of my extraordinary lineage. But I can tell a good pet owner from a bad one. My creatures don’t go to bad homes.

“Are you sure you’ve come to the right shop?” I wondered for a moment if he was human. There was a quality of distance in the man that I’ve seen in badly damaged predator-weres. But there was no evidence of the feral rage and hunger that usually accompanied disconnection from their humanity.

In fact, his eyes seemed almost a mirror of my own. Calm. So calm.

“You sell fish?” He smiled with his mouth. “I’m looking for something appropriate to give my children.”

He had children? I studied him as he studied me. His eyes alone were enough to give him away. His body reinforced my unease.

Not a big man, but superbly fit. Muscles not bulky, but his jacket had been professionally tailored to accommodate the shape of his upper body. And hide weapons, I realized. He was handsome in a fair, blue-eyed composite American kind of way. Captain of the football team in his youth, perhaps. He smelled very clean, with a faint musky odor of leather worn long against the skin that I liked better than any aftershave I’d ever smelled.

One of the corys hit the surface in the tank I had just been feeding. I saw his eyes flicker to the sound, identify the source, and return to mine almost in the same instant of time. It was a predator's instinctive response to unexpected environmental cues.

My own genetically enhanced predatory evaluation told me this man had never sired a child. Yet there was a ring on his left hand, and he spoke of 'my children'.

“Do they have an aquarium?” I stalled. Normally I know immediately whether a customer is suitable or unsuitable. This guy should have been a given.

“No. I thought they might like goldfish in a bowl. Or something similar.”

“I only sell freshwater tropical fish. They require a lot more than a bowl of water.” His eyes traveled over my colorful, active aquariums. “Did you think to get them an interesting, low-maintenance decoration . . . or the opportunity to learn about science, nature, responsibility and the emotional reward that comes from caring for a dependent, lesser life?”

His eyes seemed to lighten in color. He smiled. “The learning and responsibility part is always good. I admit I did not give the idea so much thought.”

“Perhaps then, a different gift. There’s an excellent book store across the street.”

He shook his head. “I have a friend who used to keep angel fish. They seemed like uncomplicated pets.” He walked to the nearest tank. “If I wanted to give the children an aquarium, what would I need?”

We talked for over an hour. Or mostly I talked. He was a good listener, and seemed to immediately comprehend my explanation of basic aquarium-keeping.

“A 29-gallon tank, then, complete with filtration and lighting. Peter has a workbench in his room, so a stand will be unnecessary.” He pulled a checkbook from his jacket pocket. “If a check is okay?”

“I’ll sell you an aquarium setup,” I said slowly. “But when it comes time to stock it, I won’t sell you fish.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

I pointed at the sign behind my counter. “I won’t sell _you_ fish.”

His pen moved quickly, decisively over the check. “Probably a good call,” he said. “Will you sell fish to my children?”

“I’d have to meet them first.” He got it. Didn’t even ask _why not me?_

“How much should I add to the total?” he asked. “For your time to set up the aquarium and explain upkeep to Peter and Becca?”

I told him. A workwoman is worthy of her hire, after all. He finished writing the check without demure.

“Do you have a business card? I’ll phone you with a time.”

“Yes.” I looked at the check. “Mr. Forrester.” I handed him one of my plain ivory-colored cards. “At your convenience.”

He read my name on the business card. “Call me Ted, Ms. Ringwald.”

“Call me Es, Ted.”

***

Ted Forrester called Friday morning while I sipped coffee and read the paper. After we established that late Sunday afternoon would be the best time for me to visit his home, I went back to reading my paper.

Local politics was the same old, same old. Infighting and accusations among local officials as they jockeyed for position in an upcoming election. A grainy picture of Anita Blake anchored the lower right hand corner of the front page. Our state legislature, like so many others, was debating what -- if any -- rights zombies might be entitled to, and Blake was quoted at length on the subject. There had been another suicide bombing in Iraq. And local multi-billionaire Tammerlyn Elliott’s personal collection of Egyptian artifacts had been burglarized.

I read that story avidly, even though the words _gold_ and _treasure_ weren’t really present. My mind supplied those words in connection with _billionaire_ and _artifacts._ Other women fantasize about beauty and fame, sex and unobtainable companions . . . my fantasies are about buried Egyptian riches, sunken galleons, bottomless spring-fed wells full of Aztec treasure. Mother likes to joke that I am a female Indiana Jones, without the attendant string of romantic conquests.

Mother always looks sad when she adds the qualifier about romance. According to grandmother, my mother has a lot in common with cory cats.

***

The shop was busy Friday afternoon, and busier on Saturday. I usually close at 4 p.m., but it took until 5 to clear out the waiting customers. I locked up, fed the critters, then went upstairs to my own dinner.

I love my work. I enjoy tweaking my fishes’ environments, keeping them clean, providing varied diets. I know when I get it right I will eventually have babies dancing among the rocks and plants.

I spend only a little less time tweaking my own environment. It is both a genetic-Es thing, and a female thing: nesting is a family obsession. Although the shop isn’t wildly lucrative, I’ve built it to the point where I pay too much income tax.

My latest environmental tweak was a leather, primrose-colored couch. I ate dinner curled on my new couch, channel surfing without real interest in the cookie-cutter programming. As usual I settled on a Discovery program.

Komodo dragons. Not a reptile you could keep as a pet. But way cool. I wondered if anyone had done research on the parallels between how their saliva worked, and how a rotting vampire’s bite infected a victim.

So many questions still to be answered in the natural, and supernatural, world.

I went to bed early. Cocooned in luxuriant piles of velvet and silk quilting I daydreamed as my mind and body slowed toward sleep. I realized how much I anticipated Sunday’s housecall on Ted Forrester and family. My shop was full of humble, mundane, common creatures. My imagination was full of exotic and dangerous creatures that could never be placed in proper homes, caged or contained by the largest aquarium.

In the dark landscape between waking and dreaming, Forrester moved like a komodo dragon.

***

Forrester’s driveway was full of cars.

A rather nice Hummer was blocked in by a beat-up pickup and a nondescript, dark four-door Ford with black glass.

I backed down the driveway and parked on the side of the road so I wouldn’t block anyone who wished to make a hasty exit. Which was an odd thought, I realized as I walked to the door. But maybe not so odd, considering the black windshields.

Layered rock and small plantings dominated the simple, well-maintained landscaping. The adobe house was largish, and smelled like a family place. My nose identified herbs, WD-40, the faint acrid odor of dog urine and a flowery smell that probably came from dryer exhaust.

I put my finger to the doorbell. It opened immediately.

“Yes? May I help you?”

Tall, with a Brit’s accent. I had to look up to find the man’s face. Behind a pair of metal-framed glasses his eyes were dark and intent. There was a sense of instant dismissal and irritation in the way he pushed back a wayward strand of hair from his forehead and squinted down at me.

“Es Ringwald. I have an appointment with the Forrester children.” A rush of odor leaving the house made me take half a step backward. Lycanthrope. Vampire. Human sweat that smelled of fear and desperation. I tried to take a step inside, and was stopped by a firm hand on my arm.

The man looked over his shoulder. “Mrs. Forrester. Did you . . .?”

“Please. Mr. Giles. It’s quite all right. Ms. Ringwald. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to call you. The children couldn’t be here today.”

Ted’s wife was petite, with a dark tan and brown hair that looked like she’d been pushing her hands through it for hours. She held her shoulders tense, her chin high. Her eyes were watery, the lids swollen and pink. The smell of desperation came from her.

“Why is she here, Donna?”

Anita Blake looked just like her pictures. She sounded as abrupt and hard as she did on brief sound bites, when she blew off reporters after blowing something -- or someone -- away. If she’d been a man I might have thought all that aggression was compensation for lack of stature. She was a small woman, wearing an oversized t-shirt and jeans that made her look like she was about fifteen. The brief, humorous idea of nominating her for _What Not To Wear_ made a fleeting appearance and disappearance. Her odor was faint but potent: a combination of rich, composted earth, silver and salt, gun powder and rosemary.

“Aquarium.” Donna collapsed into a chair, shut her eyes, and began to take deep, calming breaths.

“Mr. Forrester purchased an aquarium. He wanted me to speak with his children about what keeping an aquarium entails.” Mr. Giles hadn’t moved too far away from me. Standing guard, I thought. The place on my arm where his hand had rested tingled and burned. He smelled of old paper, time-moulded leather, ink and ozone. He smelled like the sky does before a lightning storm. Only big magic has that smell.

“Some other time . . .” The sound of a cell phone stopped Anita Blake midsentence.

What had I walked into? A lovely blond young man had a cell phone to his ear. Werewolf, from the musky smell coming off his skin. The vampire scent I’d picked up at the front door came, surprisingly, from a very wide awake cloaked figure seated in a shadowed corner of the room.

I took a deeper breath. Notorious necromancer, British sorcerer, studly lycanthrope, vampire so old it could withstand the light of day . . . what had I walked into?

“They’ve got Jean-Claude.” The werewolf snapped his phone shut. “The coffins never made it to the hotel.”

“Is it the same people that took Ted?” Donna came out of her chair in a surge of frantic energy. “What’s going on, Anita?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Steady.” Mr. Giles’ voice was pitched to soothe. “Obsidian Butterfly gave us permission to enter her city.”

“You’re not dealing with Itzpopalotl .. and it’s time you accepted what this will mean.” The vampire stood and eased back the hood on her cloak.

The smell of male arousal rolled in waves off the two men in the room.

The vampire was beyond beautiful. Tall for a woman, standing maybe 6 feet or so, with skin the color of ice-milk, hair the color of the midnight sky. Her lips were the deep red color of the Black Magic roses that grandmother had cultivated for the last few years. They looked like fallen rose petals, a roll of velvet with bruised edges. That dark hair fell around her temples in heavy masses of soft curl, framing eyes the color of crushed, drowned pansies.

I desperately wanted to say _pretty is as pretty does,_ but kept my mouth firmly shut. Which made me one of two people in the room that didn’t have a slack jaw. Although Anita glared at the vampire like she was cockatiel poo on a dry-clean only silk blouse, Donna had joined the men in an expression of vast, probably sexual, absorption.

“Mrs. Forrester.” I tried to get her attention. “Why don’t you take a moment, wash your face and take something for that headache you must have.”

Donna blinked her eyes and pushed at her hair in a self-conscious way.

“Good idea.” Anita nodded, letting her glare slide past me and soften when it hit Donna. “You’ve had a rough 24-hours.”

Mr. Giles cleared his throat as Donna left the room. “Er -- perhaps you should leave now, Ms. Ringwald. There is a bit of unpleasantness going on. The Forrester children are quite safe and well, and Ms. Blake is here to assist Mrs. Forrester.”

“As you say.” I was in complete agreement with him about leaving. I had no doubt that this adventure would result in masses of the color red instead of gold. “Have the Forresters call to make another appointment.”

I would have been out of there. I should have been out of there. But I made the mistake of looking directly in Beautiful Vamp’s eyes. And turning my back on her.

“Wait.”

I sighed. How many times had grandmother cautioned me not to meet a vampire’s gaze?

“What now?”

I wondered if Anita Blake suffered from high blood pressure.

“She can meet my eyes. I do not sense that she has any magic, yet she can meet my eyes. Turn around . . .”

The scent in the air announced the vampire’s proximity before she touched my shoulder. I turned.

“It’s a genetic ability,” I said, looking into those chocolate-violet eyes. “No big deal.”

“I am She Who Must Be Adored. If you are human, you will adore me.”

Each word was a caress. Adorable stroked her fingers down my check and leaned too close, lips parted as if for a kiss.

I backed away from the contact. “I’m sure you’re very nice for a parasite. You have lovely skin. But I’m 100-percent into men,” I babbled.

Anita Blake laughed, a sharp bark of amusement that earned her a black glance from Adorable. “I’d like to introduce her to Jean-Claude. Just for fun. Now, escort her to the door, Giles.”

I didn’t wait for Giles’ guidance. I went for the door.

“I wish I had your _genetic ability,_ ” Giles said quietly. “She’s getting on my nerves. I rather resent being attracted to a vampire. Especially when I know it’s not a true attraction.”

“Good luck.” I reached for the door handle, and felt it turn under my fingers without my assistance.

The Forrester home had more company.

***

“Everyone will come with us.”

The room was full of werejaguars flashing sharp canines and dark metal knives. Obsidian Butterfly’s creatures. I knew their smell due to a couple of my steady customers -- oscar and piranha keepers -- who had the same pack odor.

“I’ll go with you. And bring my people,” Anita said, making meaningful eye contact with me. “But this woman isn’t involved with us.”

“Our mistress said to bring the wife. She will come.”

Maybe Donna would rush back into the room, I thought hopefully. But then again, these guys didn’t look like they would be good at making snap decisions. I suspected I was going on an adventure whether Donna tagged along or not.

“What are we waiting for?” I asked brightly. Anita gave me a long, considering look. She brushed past the werejaguar thugs and led the way out of the house. The blond werewolf and Adorable followed her.

“Sorry.” Giles fell in back with me. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe. But we’re not completely certain what we will be dealing with.”

A limo and a black SUV had parked sideways across the end of the driveway, blocking the other cars. One of the werejaguars held a limo door open and pointed.

“Kidnapped in style,” the blond were commented as he climbed in.

“Shut up, Jason,” Anita said.

It was too close in the limo, and nobody really wanted to sit next to Adorable. Anita grudgingly took that spot. I was sandwiched between Giles and Jason the werewolf on the opposite seat. I suspected the only reason Anita opted for the space next to the vamp was so she could keep an eye on the front seat and the driver. Never sit with your back to the door, and all that.

Adorable sat poised like a mannequin, keeping her face deep in the hood. Giles averted his eyes from her and stared out the window. Jason slouched bonelessly and seemed to go to sleep.

“A quick and simple explanation might be useful.” I saw Anita’s chin come up. “Perhaps Mr. Giles?”

Anita hesitated, then nodded at him, a gesture of command.

“Simple? I’ll do my best,” Giles said in a low voice. “I’m sorry we weren’t properly introduced. My name is Rupert Giles. Anita and Forrester are business associates. You know that Jean-Claude is the Master of the City of St. Louis?”

“Of course I’ve heard his name before. But I don’t pay much attention to vampire politics.”

“Good God. How fortunate you are.” Giles took an audible breath of exasperation. “Obsidian Butterfly’s people called yesterday. Forrester was taken by them to force Anita to bring Jean-Claude and another man to meet with Obsidian Butterfly.”

“Another man?”

“An alpha werewolf from our city. He couldn’t come,” Giles said. “I actually came in Richard’s place.”

“You’re not a lycanthrope -- but Jason is?”

“I am not. Jason is lycanthrope, Jean-Claude’s pomme de sang. He is not one of the summoned.” Giles cleared his throat. “I sell occult texts, and work as a consultant on matters of magic.”

Anita made a sniffing sound. Jason snickered.

The car was too full of smells, too full of tension. I tried to take shallow breaths. “Why does Obsidian Butterfly want them here?”

“She does not.” Adorable said from the shadow of her hood. “It is fact that Jean-Claude has formed an unprecedented connection with a necromancer, an alpha werewolf, and now a sorcerer. It is fact that Obsidian Butterfly covets the ability to accomplish such a feat. It is also fact that the Goddess finds herself host to a vampire elder who is more interested in _using_ the power Jean-Claude can generate.”

“For what? To take over the world?” I heard Jason snicker again, and saw Anita roll her eyes. I really don’t like vampires. Like grandmother says: _You can’t live with them, and you can’t eat them._

“I am not sure what she might choose to do if she recovers her full strength.” Adorable took my question seriously. “She Who Must Be Worshipped could bring chaos and death to your country on a scale you cannot imagine.”

“Especially when given only vague, incoherent cries of _beware!_ ,” I said, feeling bitchier by the instant. “I can’t help but notice a similarity of names. Are you related to Her Worship?”

Giles’ hand touched my arm. “She Who Must Be Adored is a direct descendant of the Gentle Mother, the first vampire. She Who Must Be Adored made She Who Must Be Worshipped; She Who Must Be Worshipped made Belle Morte, who made Jean-Claude. Only recently did Jean-Claude come into his own not only as a Master Vampire, but sire of his own line, breaking away from Belle Morte.”

“That was interesting,” I said in my best fake-cheery voice. “Gentle Mo begat Adorable, who begat Her Worship, who begat Belle Morte, who begat Jean-Claude. Is it all verbal history, or do vampires keep genealogies?”

Adorable clicked her teeth and hissed.

“She sounds like you, Anita,” Jason said, laughing. “I’ll bet she’d poke at a rattlesnake, too.”

“She is a foolish human.”

Nobody said anything for several minutes. Then, “We’re almost there,” Anita said.

“What did you leave out of the story? Where does Adorable come into it? Did they send for her too?”

Giles sighed. “No. It’s very complicated.”

“So simplify.

“She Who Must Be Adored imprisoned She Who Must Be Worshipped over two thousand years ago, with the sanction of the Vampire Council, because of the destruction her appetites caused. Her Worship has been unexpectedly released, and now seeks to restore herself to full power,” Giles said in a rush. “Did you know that master vampires have different powers? The special power that runs strongly through the line of She Who Must Be Adored is sexual. All of her children can feed from sexual energy.”

“She Who Must Be Worshipped is never satiated. She gluts herself on human, vampire, animal lusts ... the frenzy could grow to encompass the world,” Adorable said tonelessly.

I met Anita Blake’s eyes and saw something that made me grin like a fool. “What do you say to a several-thousand-year-old, crazed nymphomaniac vampire?”

“Keep your hands to yourself, and don’t piss me off,” Anita said, almost smiling back.

While I don’t follow celebrity exploits closely -- and Anita Blake, Vampire Executioner unarguably would be considered a celebrity -- I’ve read enough news stories with the words _bloodbath, mayhem,_ and _carnage_ connected to her to extrapolate that the current situation might turn ugly. Everything I’ve ever read or heard about her indicates that she is an Event Interceder.

“There are those who watch, those who act, and those who run away -- in order to live to run away again another day,” grandmother likes to say. Our family instinct leans toward the watching. When we run away, it’s called strategic withdrawal. All Es are taught at an early age that strategic withdrawal can be an effective, and not dishonorable, way to avoid unnecessary dangers. And survive.

I’m not a big fan of Aztec style. Yet as we walked through the darkened corridors of Obsidian Butterfly’s domain I felt my imagination begin a slow burn. Conquest, blood, death, treasure . . . The stuff of history and stories from my childhood.

I gave myself a mental shake and caution to keep my imagination under control.

The sounds reached us first, echoing through a foyer-type area. A multitude of voices vocalizing, but not speaking.

“She has already begun,” Adorable said.

“Let me guess. An orgy.” Anita sounded disgusted. “Just once I’d like to walk in on a heated political debate, poetry reading, or maybe an impromptu soccer game. No. It’s all about torture, death and sex. Torture, death and sex. Sex. Sex. Sex.”

“You’re ranting.” Giles took off his glasses, squinted through the lenses as if displeased by the condition of the glass, then returned them to his nose with a sigh. “I would have put more emphasis on the torture and death.”

“Keep walking.” A werejaguar poked me in the back with his knife.

We left the foyer, passed under a broad, crudely quarried stone archway, and came to a halt just inside a cavernous space. It was humbling to be confronted with evidence that my imagination was clearly inadequate when compared with reality. The sensitive receptors on the back of my tongue and throat were nearly clogged by the reek of various bodily fluids.

The reality before us might have been a vision engendered by ergot-laced wheat, and hours brooding over woodcut-illustrated cautionary tales of a salacious nature. It looked like a movie set for the top half of an old pyramid temple. On top of the pyramid, and center stage, a stone altar was surrounded by mounds of writhing naked bodies. A cacophony of sound accompanied the writhing; moans, groans, snarls and yelps of what could have been pain, pleasure, or an unholy blending of the two. A gargoyle-like figure squatted on the altar, clothed in nothing but cracked and dusty skin. It turned flame-red eyes in our direction.

“Which level of hell does that remind you of?” I whispered to Giles.

“It’s like Gorey’s _Curious Sofa,_ as seen by Escher,” Giles muttered in agreement. “I’m shielding us the best I can. But the magic that’s being worked is not, in itself, a threat.”

“She is spreading the ardeur, and feeding from it,” Adorable said. “This is more than a threat. She will suck them all dry.”

 **Come.** A nonverbal command tolled through my mind, resonating like a bell. I saw the other humans wince at the same moment. The command was evidently more than an order for the werejaguars to bring us forward. The crowd went orgasmic. A smaller shudder ran through Giles, Anita and Jason as we watched the orgy participants go limp and spent.

Odors of fresh sex, sweat and blood scented the air. It made me feel a little hungry.

Adorable led the way up the steps toward the altar, effortlessly stepping over clumps of panting bodies. Anita and Giles followed. Jason and I completed the procession.

Anita stopped halfway up the stairs, as Adorable continued climbing.

“What’s the plan?” Giles whispered.

“Don’t take off your pants,” Anita said. Her voice sounded thick and stressed. “I don’t think the real show will begin until the vampires wake up for the night.”

“How long?”

“The sun’s already going down,” I said, moving closer to them. “Maybe forty minutes. Maybe less. This ardeur, that’s the sexual energy Adorable said they feed from?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?” Jason moved up next to Anita.

“Not really. But I can hang on.”

There was so much going on between them, so much they knew about each other. I wondered if Anita realized how determined these two men were to protect her. Would she find that amusing, as lethal and competent as she was in her own right?

Giles glanced back at me. His skin looked flushed and damp, like he’d been running in humid air. “You don’t feel it? The -- urgency?”

“It’s not compelling,” I said carefully. I did feel the vampire’s power flowing around me, filling the room. I wasn’t totally immune to the hunger Her Worship broadcasted. But no way was I going to be foolish enough to let the hunger take me. When I get up close and personal with someone, it’s my choice. And it’s not in front of an audience.

Adorable had climbed to a point only a few steps below the altar. She seemed to be having meaningful eye contact with the crone on the stone. The two ancient vampires weren’t speaking aloud, but communication was taking place. Around us the bodies heaved, moaned, and began to grope and fondle. I squinted at Her Worship. It seemed that her wrinkles were less pronounced, as if the wizened body straightened and plumped.

“Anita. Always a pleasure.”

I recognized the voice. Ted Forrester, flanked by werejaguar guards, climbed the steps toward us. His hands were bound behind his back, and a series of bruises and scratches marked his forehead and left cheek.

“Edward. We have to stop meeting like this.” Genuine humor and, unexpectedly, affection lightened her voice and expression.

Edward. Interesting. It suited him better than ‘Ted.’

“My family?” His eyes slid over me, cold, dead, yet with something huge and monstrously purposeful roiling under that coldness.

“Safe.” Anita did not elaborate. “Ms. Ringwald was caught up in events at your home.”

“They took my weapons.”

Anita shook her head. She touched her hip, casually. The werejaguars had not searched her before taking us away. I knew from the smell of her skin that she had high-silver content weaponry on her somewhere. And at least one gun.

“They have Jean-Claude, too.”

“What’s going on? Since I’m apparently here partially on your account,” Edward said softly. “Tammerlyn Elliott hired me to track whatever broke into his collection, and that led me to Obsidian Butterfly’s people. I wasn’t prepared for the encounter.”

“I’ll bet that was hard to say,” Anita said. Everything about her was tense. Her face looked like unpainted china. She held her fists clenched by her sides. “More of this going on?”

“Not as organized.” Edward’s eyes swept the writhing mass of bodies. “One of the guards said they broke the old vampire out of Elliott’s mummy case on Thursday night. It turned into a party. When I showed up I was . . . detained by a couple of Obsidian Butterfly’s people.”

“Jumped your bones?” Anita laughed. It was a crazy sound. Jason whimpered and curled up by her feet, butting his head against her legs.

Edward looked at her, a measuring examination. “She’s getting to you.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“It’s old suck-face’s fault, isn’t it.” Edward sounded mildly revolted. “Obsidian Butterfly recognized me, and it reminded her of you. She told the old vamp that Jean-Claude was a powerful descendant of her line, and might be able to help her revive fully.”

“So it _really_ is your fault I’m here.” Anita’s fingernails were digging into the flesh of her palms.

“No, it’s your fault for sleeping with an undead sex maniac,” Edward said bluntly. “How are we going to kill them?”

“Them?” Giles wiped sweat from his forehead. He swallowed every couple of seconds, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“First the vampires, then anything that gets between me and the door. These cuffs need to come off, Anita.”

Moaning rose and fell around us like surf on a seashore. Up near the altar, Adorable had dropped her cape. She seemed a slim ivory statue draped in black crepe, beautiful, ageless. Her Worship no longer looked as old as dirt. She was definitely de-aging at an increasing rate. I could see breasts and hips filling in the previously dried-apple torso.

“What’s stopping Adorable from ripping Her Worship’s head off?” I wondered aloud. “She has to be strong enough. She hasn’t been in a sarcophagus for two thousand years.”

“Adorable?” Edward stepped up beside me.

“She Who Must Be Adored. Sire of Her Worship’s line, etcetera. Another sex maniac,” I said. “Currently the more attractive of the two vampires up there.”

“I think, I feel, she may be trying to buffer the effect of the ardeur,” Giles said uncertainly. “I would have voted for a more direct method.”

“She’s taking what she can into herself.” Anita’s voice was a ragged breath of sound. “But she can’t use her own power against Her Worship. That would only add to the energy in play.”

“Do you think you might get on with the killing, Anita?” Giles said. “I’m feeling . . .”

“Yeah. I know that feeling.”

Outside, on the edge of the desert, the sun seeped past cloud and rock leaving behind a clear navy-blue sky. I could almost see it. I could smell the air change toward night-smell, could feel evening’s coolness finger my skin. The ancient rock under my feet pulsed with power. Vampires were awakening.

Her Worship rose, awkwardly, to a standing position on the altar. Her skin was paler, firmer, although she still stooped like a centenarian with calcium-deficiency. Far away, someone hit a gong.

“I think some of them are dead,” Jason said in a small voice. “They aren’t moving any more, and I smell death.”

I smelled it too. Adorable had been telling the truth. Her Worship could kill as surely with the ardeur as an ordinary vampire could with their fangs.

“I need to go home. The fish have to be fed,” I said. “And there’s a program on the Discovery channel tonight about dinosaurs.”

It broke the tension for a moment. Anita shook her head, clearly wondering if I was as half-witted as I sounded. Giles looked like he had a great deal of sympathy for my demand. And Edward looked at me with clear, interested eyes.

“You aren’t affected by the ardeur,” he said. “Why?”

“Why aren’t you?” I countered.

“But I am,” Edward smiled. “You know what they say about sex and death?”

There was more information in his smile than I really wanted. “A matter of substitution, I suppose. Pretty ballsy of you to be throwing stones at Anita for her choice in boyfriends,” I muttered.

Edward and Anita laughed at the same moment.

Giles seemed to collect himself. He moved in back of Anita and bent to whisper in her ear. She shifted her body back against him and relaxed. I saw his hand disappear up one of her sleeves.

Our werejaguar guards were still upright, but barely watching us. Molded into an upright spooning position they managed to simultaneously threaten us and hump each other.

“I used to be able to do this,” Giles said. He left Anita and maneuvered behind Edward, his body blocking the other man’s back from the view of the guards.

“I heard you still could,” Jason said from his spot at Anita’s feet.

“Cheeky furball.” Giles sucked in his breath and concentrated on what he was doing. I saw the glint of silver, and heard the snick of a metallic catch. “Ah. One’s misspent youth is rarely totally misspent.”

“If you have any other useful tricks, like a good de-lusting spell, now would be the time, Giles.”

I followed the direction of Anita’s eyes. I could already smell them, hundreds of them, coming from the depths of the earth under the old temple structure. First through the archway were Obsidian Butterfly and her handmaids, escorting one of the most gorgeous males I had ever seen, alive or undead.

“That’s Jean-Claude?” The carriage of a king, dark curls, and an aura of promised wickedness of the good kind that would have made him a stand-out in any company of extraordinary men. I found myself majorly disappointed that he wasn’t alive.

Anita shook her head. Her hands trembled. “Giles. Isn’t there something you can do?”

“I don’t have any of the ingredients for a spell.” Giles’ voice was agitated. “You know what we risk if I work directly with the magic. There’s too much power loose in here already.”

“Give me a gun.” Edward’s hands were free, and he’d taken the knife from Giles. I saw him slide it under his belt.

“Ankle holster,” Anita said. “Help yourself.”

Time for strategic withdrawal, I thought. Vampires circled the lower level of the room, a soundless, breathless presence that brought a weighty sense of age and hunger. Obsidian Butterfly ascended the steps toward the altar as if levitating. I couldn’t see her knees bend. When she was nearly at the top she stopped a few feet behind Adorable. She turned and looked down at our group, down at the writhing werejaguars, down at the assembled vampires.

“Worship our sister, and restore her to health.” Obsidian Butterfly gestured toward Jean-Claude. “Remove your rags, stand naked before us and worship. We would taste your power.”

I heard Giles sigh. “So much for keeping on my pants,” he said.

***

There were so many reasons I didn’t want to take off my clothes in front of strangers.

“Giles, Jason, Edward -- shirts and pants off,” Anita said in a low voice. “I have to stall. If I take off my t-shirt they’ll see the holster and gun.”

Edward had already removed his shirt. He dropped it near Anita’s feet, then bent as if to untie his shoes. His fingers hovered near her ankle. I saw a quick movement. The gun was in his hand, then hidden under the shirt.

Anita moved away. She began to climb toward the altar.

“Clothes off.” The werejaguar guards took a break from humping and dropped their own clothing. They still had their knives, though, and for the moment were back to acting as guards.

Refusal was a possibility. But refusal would lead to an escalation of events. I took off my jacket and folded it. I took off my cotton shell and placed it neatly on top of my jacket.

Giles and Edward were down to their underwear. Boxers and briefs respectively. Jason evidently didn’t believe in underwear. My own underwear was clean -- which mother would be happy to know is always the case. It’s also plain, athletic-type spandex, without frills and furbelows. A two-piece swim suit would cover less, I told myself reassuringly. I unzipped my dress trousers and slipped them off. Folded them. Stopped. Waited.

“Sorcerer. Join your master.” Obsidian Butterfly stood with her hand on Jean-Claude’s throat. Anita looked as if she was paralyzed, standing frozen next to Adorable’s now nude, kneeling figure.

“Torture. Death. Sex,” Giles muttered. “I do miss Buffy. She would be up there kicking ass by now. Slaying should be uncomplicated.”

I didn’t know who Buffy was, but I felt there was a trueness to the observation about slaying.

“Wow. Nice tats. I’ve never seen gold ink like that before.” Jason stood beside me, looking at my shoulders and back. “You should know that if Anita and Jean-Claude go into a clinch right now, Her Worship is going to have the option of filling up with high octane. They both need to feed, and I’m talking sex more than blood. As far as I know they’ve never had a threesome with Giles. He brings more power to Jean-Claude than Richard ever did.”

“Who to kill first? So many possible hits, so little time.” Edward stood on the other side of me. His fingers reached to trace the markings along my spine. “I’m going up there. You’re both going to help.”

I shivered.

“Beautiful,” he said without inflection, “but not tats. You aren’t anything I’ve met before.”

“Anyone, thank you very much,” I said tartly. “You’re more of an anything than I am.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps we’ll talk about ourselves later. Right now, Anita’s just lost her gun and clothing.”

And willpower. I could feel a swell of power building like nothing I’d ever sensed before. Encompassing. Obliterating. There was a very good chance that even I couldn’t be able to ride it out unscathed.

On the altar Her Worship straightened and began to glow. Adorable held her hands before her eyes, but otherwise did not move. Anita, Giles and the vampire Jean-Claude knelt facing each other. I could see the vampire’s lips move as he talked to his human companions.

“Crawl,” Edward said in my ear. “Crawl ahead of us up the steps, like you’re teasing us. I have to drag the gun along under my shirt.”

I turned to face him. Glared at him. “You crawl up the damn steps. We’ll follow you. I can drag the gun.”

He stepped closer to me. We were the same height. Edward smiled, leaned into me and nuzzled his mouth along the side of my neck. “They’re watching you already. The werejaguar guards. Put on a show, and they’ll ignore us.”

_Yesssss._

It hit us all like a tsunami. Hunger. Desire. The imperative to touch and be touched. A pre-orgasmic clenching of promised pleasure burned low between my legs. I heard Jason whimper and felt him plaster his body against my back. Edward’s eyes went from blue to glacier gray in that instant, and his hands tightened like steel restraints over my forearms. Above us Anita, Giles and Jean-Claude were locked in a three-way embrace, a tangle of arms and mouths and legs.

“Shit.” Edward’s mouth covered mine.

The world went still inside my head. Circumstances were poor, but the kiss was way too good. I’ve kissed men who didn’t fit against me, against my mouth. Noses and teeth in the way, aggressive sucking and tongue-thrusting that made me want to laugh instead of melt into my partner. Edward knew how to kiss, knew how to be soft. Knew how to be hard. My fingers went to the nape of his neck. His hair felt like the watered silk that backs the comforters on my bed. There was no part of my body that didn’t match up with the good parts of his, and there was unmistakable evidence that he liked the match.

Without thinking of the consequences, I bit his bottom lip.

The kiss was over. We looked at each other. Edward wiped blood from his lip and looked down at his fingers. Something important had happened. Even though I knew there was no feeling, no sincerity in the contact we’d shared, something had happened.

“Jason. Get your tongue out of my ear,” I said. “I’m ready to crawl up the damn stairs.”

“Even if we kill Her Worship, it may not help.” Jason collapsed beside me, panting. “I don’t think Jean-Claude and Anita can stop until they’re finished.”

“Let’s find out.” I went onto my knees and headed up the stairs. “Just so you both know I feel this is degrading and unfair.”

When I looked back, Edward was laughing. He crawled after me, hand tangled in his shirt as he pulled it along with him.

“Even the soles of your feet are marked. I’d like to see the entire pattern. Any chance you’ll slip those panties off?”

I stopped crawling. We were only a short distance from Adorable. “If the panties come off,” I said in a whisper, “very bad things will be happening.”

They pressed against me, one on either side. Edward’s mouth was against my neck again. Jason licked my shoulder.

“I’m going to shoot her in the head, and try to take her in the heart with the knife,” Edward whispered against my skin. “If you can make it to Anita’s clothes, there’s another gun. Can you handle a gun?”

“I’ve never needed to know how. I’ll give it a shot, though.”

“Never mind. Stay low with Jason.” His mouth still moved against my skin. “You smell good.”

“Focus. Kill something.” I pushed him away.

Edward rolled away from us, fast as a lycanthrope. In one smooth motion he was on his feet, pointing Anita’s gun at Her Worship’s head. He pulled the trigger a fraction of a second too late. Her Worship was no longer on the altar.

The gun flew into air and dropped somewhere in the orgy. Edward lay flat on his back, looking up at Her Worship.

The view was much improved. There seemed to be a strong ‘family’ resemblance in Adorable’s line. Dark hair, beautiful skin and eyes . . . and the energy of raw sex made Her Worship a wonderful and fearful sight.

 **Worship me.** She Who Must Be Worshipped turned her full attention on Edward.

His face went slack, his eyes seemed to fog over. He rolled to his knees and began to crawl toward her.

I stood up. “That’s more than enough of this shit.” I pushed Jason gently away with one foot.

 _There comes a time when you have to decide,_ grandmother likes to say, _whether you’re going to be the fish or the bait. The answer to the question is never in doubt. The biggie is how you know it’s the right time to ask yourself the question._

So much for strategic withdrawal. I had the full, if uncomprehending, attention of two insane vampire Goddesses. Everyone around me was on a sex bender. I had allowed myself to form a tenuous, but real, connection with total strangers.

“I choose to be a fish,” I said wearily, unfastening my bra. “Edward. Can you hear me?”

His head swivelled in my direction as I dropped my panties. I saw a flicker of intelligence in his eyes.

“Don’t let me eat any of the vampires,” I said clearly. “Especially Her Worship. She’d make me sick for a week.”

I raised my arms above my head and changed.

***

_I am Es. Youngest of all Es._

_My wings are strong, as are my jaws and claws. Vampire flesh shreds easily. The scent of blood is good. Changing always makes me hungry._

_I know where I am, and why I have changed. But I can smell gold nearby. Gold. Precious gems. It will be good to find treasure. It will be good to find food._

_Prey scurries below my perch like ants on a disturbed anthill. New death lays within the activity._

_Still warm meat._

_The scent of gold._

_I am Es. And I am very happy._

***

When I woke up, I was laying stark naked on a pile of loot on top of the pyramid. My inner timesense told me it was nearly morning. I felt rested. I felt wonderful. Obviously I hadn’t eaten any vampires. Something about vampires give Es terrible indigestion. A visual memory of Edward pushing a dead werejaguar in my direction, and dragging the pieces of Her Worship’s corpse out of my way, brought a blush to my bare skin.

“That was quite a show.” Giles sat at the bottom of the steps. He stood and stretched wearily. “I’ve never met a weredragon before. Didn’t know they existed. I understand you’ve gathered everything they have of value in under four hours, enlarging several storeroom doorways in the process.”

I fingered a collar of golden links regretfully. I couldn’t keep any of it. “I hope it’s all repairable. Are my clothes handy?”

“Half a moment.” Giles disappeared through the archway.

Someone had cleaned up the area. All the bodies were gone, although numerous stains remained. I could feel Obsidian Butterfly’s vampires very faintly, far below the temple, getting ready for the coming of the sun.

I heard voices, then Giles reappeared holding my neat pile of clothing. “They’re waiting until you’re dressed. Then we can get out of here.”

My underwear had disappeared, but it didn’t seem to matter that much. I dressed quickly.

Anita, Edward and Jason waited with Giles inside the foyer. They all looked various degrees of bruised.

“We’re headed back to St. Louis this morning,” Anita said. “I appreciate your help. You should know that Obsidian Butterfly thinks you’re a Goddess too. I guess it’s the only way she could explain or justify what you did to Her Worship.”

“Where’s Adorable? I didn’t -- ?”

“She disappeared under her own power.” Anita’s mouth tightened, then she shrugged. “Jean-Claude said she’ll probably report back to the Vampire Council. He didn’t know about you, and doesn’t think the Council does, either. It’s not a good thing to be brought to the attention of the Vampire Council.”

“Let that be a lesson to you.” Edward’s eyes were blue again. Calm. “You could have killed both of them, and Obsidian Butterfly into the bargain.”

“That’s you, not me,” I said. “Can I go home now?”

“Edward will see you get home. We’re going directly to the airport.” Anita looked at me curiously. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you change. Edward says it was quite different than what happens to lycanthropes.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I looked into her dark eyes and said nothing. She shrugged and turned away.

“If you’re ever in St. Louis, drop in and see me,” Jason said, grinning. He looked perky and almost rested.

“Yes. Please drop in.”

Giles did not look rested. He looked used and tossed aside. On impulse I stepped to him and kissed his cheek.

“Are you a fish, or are you the bait?” I whispered. “Remember this question, Giles.”

***

Edward selected an unlocked car in the parking lot outside the restaurant. It took him seconds to get it started without the assistance of a key.

“Get in.”

I did.

Morning sun threw long golden shadows across the pavement and sparkled off the window glass. We rode in silence for about half of the drive.

“Some of the werejaguars threw knives at you,” Edward said, breaking the silence. “They bounced. I looked and couldn’t find anywhere on your body that wasn’t armored. Have you ever been shot at?”

“You didn’t try?” I gave him a sideways look. “No Edward, I don’t have any secret sensitive weak spots under my armpit. I’ve never been shot at, but my family members have had the occasional run-in with automatic weapons. The ricochets are very dangerous -- to those shooting the weapons.”

“Um.” He was quiet for another couple of miles.

“Thank you for not letting me eat Her Worship,” I said at last. “Vampires are . . . well, it’s like a food allergy.”

“You’re welcome.”

More silence. We were getting close to my shop.

“I suppose you’ll want me to return the money for the aquarium session,” I said finally.

“Why would I?” He sounded honestly puzzled. “I’ll have Donna choose another afternoon this week.”

“All right.”

My shop looked quiet, clean and welcoming in morning’s light. I couldn’t wait to get upstairs and shower. But I sat in the car as Edward parked at the curb near the front door.

“My best fantasy used to be built around hunting Anita,” Edward said finally. “I’ve never met anyone more determined, skilled and lucky than Anita. She has her own set of principles, but she is absolutely deadly. And a survivor. If you hadn’t been there last night, she would have pulled something off. It might have cost her dearly, but I believe the outcome would have been the same. One way or another that old vampire would have died.”

“You weren’t completely down for the count,” I said uncomfortably.

He flashed me a bright grin. “I’m only human. I kill monsters as quickly as I can in part because some of them have unfair advantage over me. I think the human race could get alone just fine without all the supernatural shit. My judgment was seriously impaired last night. I missed the crucial hit.”

“I wasn’t totally immune, either.” I searched for the right words. This was new territory for me. “If you’re hinting that you might like to hunt me, in fantasy or reality, you should know that Es are not prey. I know your scent now, your taste. I’d know you were coming before _you_ knew it. And Es are hunters, too.”

Edward smiled politely. His eyes were very bright blue. “Good to know.”

I reached for the door handle. I cleared my throat. “You’ve got several nasty werejaguar scratches on your back.”

“Yes. The first night at the temple was a rough ride.” Edward looked down at a red scratch on his hand. “I’ve been scratched by lycanthropes before, and nothing came of it. It’s an occupational hazard, like ricocheting bullets.”

That remark made it easier for me to finish what I needed to tell him. “Don’t worry about the scratches. I’m sorry, I bit you. Es saliva pretty much overrides any other were species on the planet.”

“What are you telling me?” His body had gone very still.

“Relax,” I said quickly. “We’re not like lycanthropes and other werecreatures. You won’t turn into a dragon. That would take a century or so of constant fluid exchange.”

For some reason I felt myself blush at the expression in his eyes. An expression that was barely there. A shadow in back of darkness.

“Good to know,” Edward said dryly.

“It _is_ a mark,” I continued cautiously. “One of the reasons I don’t worry about you hunting me. I’d _know_ you were coming. You should find you have greater resistance to vampire glamours, and most toxins.”

Silence fell between us. Edward’s body relaxed. He smiled at me, one of his bright, empty smiles. “Donna will call you.”

I got out of the car and watched him drive away. I don’t think he looked in the rear view mirror.

My fish swarmed up at the sight of me, reproachfully mouthing the surface as if they had been starved for a week. I scattered food and did a quick check to see that everything was well. I needed to open the shop in about three hours.

The world could change in second, a minute, in fifteen hours. I wanted to shower and give grandmother and mother a call. In fifteen hours I’d managed to break most of grandmother’s strictures on Es behavior.

Most, but not all. There was some comfort in that.

As there was some comfort in finally being able to tell them that, perhaps, I’d found the man.


End file.
